


Lover's Quarrel

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [14]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Aramis in peril, Dragon Riders, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Character Death, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: The Cardinal finds out about Aramis and Adele. His retribution is vicious and deadly.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

Aramis lay back against the fluffy pillows, skin tingling as Adele traced a finger across his collar bone and down the length of the jagged, almost healed scar.

"Poor Aramis," she crooned.

"The cost of being a soldier," he replied softly.

She moved her hand down to his lower left ribs, caressing a large, raised scar there. "This?"

He glanced down, replying sagely, "Stabbed in combat at the siege of Montauban in '21."

She shifted to brush one on his opposite shoulder. "And this one?"

"Musket ball at the Ile de Re, '22."

Adele gave him a sultry smile as she moved to three still red scratches on his torso. "And this one?"

Aramis grinned. "Your nails, at the Luxembourg Gardens, the day before yesterday." He raised himself up to press his mouth to hers, snaking his arms around her supple body and rolling her over on the bed.

"Mm," she hummed, "Armand will be here soon."

"He doesn't love you as I do," Aramis murmured back, kissing her neck.

"Yes, but he pays for all of this."

Aramis stopped, the mood effectively doused. He flopped back over onto his back and sighed.

"Don't be like that." Adele rolled so she was partially on his chest.

He put his arm behind his head. It was difficult _not_ to be like that when she kept invoking the Cardinal in the middle of what should have been _their_ lovemaking.

Adele started kissing him again, trying to tease him back into it. He didn't respond at first, but then, how could he resist her for long? He was a fool in love.

A resounding knock at the door below reverberated through the house.

Adele shot upright. "Oh my God, he's early!"

Aramis bolted upward in alarm. They exchanged a frantic look, then scrambled from the bed. Aramis's trousers were hanging down around his thighs as he shuffled to the door to check the hall.

"No, don't go that way, he'll see you!"

He quickly shut the door. "Please tell me there's another way out."

Adele shrugged into her robe and pointed. "The window."

Aramis fumbled with the buttons of his trousers as he rushed over to open it and get a look at the street below. He faltered. "Have you seen how far down that is?" he asked in dismay, then shook his head. "No, that's not going to work." He grabbed his shirt and thrust his arms through the sleeves. "I'll…simply tell the Cardinal I had a good reason for being here."

"In my bedroom?" Adele exclaimed.

"You thought you saw a rat and screamed." He got his braces up and snatched up his coat to put on next. "I was passing by and ran to help. Easy."

Adele just shot him a glower as he hastily shoved his feet into his boots. She buttoned up her corset, then grabbed his hat and slapped it against his chest.

"If you love me, you'll jump."

Aramis gave her a helpless look, then the window. He sighed in resignation. "My sword."

Adele ran to retrieve it and Aramis turned to face the window, taking deep, harried breaths as he steeled himself for this. He placed his hat upon his head. Adele hurried back and passed him his weapons belt and pauldron, which he tossed out the window into the street below.

"Please, go now!" Adele urged.

Aramis climbed onto the ledge but caught sight of something he'd missed on the floor. "My pistol!"

Adele ran toward it, kicking it under the bed just as the bedroom doors opened. "Armand!" she greeted with exaggerated cheer.

Aramis launched himself off the window ledge.

"How wonderful to see you!"

Aramis was hanging by his fingertips now and regretted the folly of this plan as his still mending shoulder muscles pulled tautly. The Cardinal's voice filtered out from above.

"It's chilly in here, my dear."

"Is it?" Adele replied shakily. "I'm rather hot. Oh, come here, my love…"

"I can't stay for long. Affairs of state."

"But I hardly get to see you these days."

Aramis gritted his teeth and tried to hold absolutely still as he heard the window get closed. Once it clicked shut, he let himself breathe in relief. But it was short-lived as his arms and shoulders twinged from strain and he realized he had no idea how he was supposed to get down. His legs flailed, failing to grab purchase on the wall. The movement knocked his hat from his head. He stopped moving and tried to take another breath.

Well, shit.

Then he heard a familiar, delighted cackling, and he craned his neck to look down. Porthos and Athos were coming up the street. Aramis sighed again. Figured.

Porthos started clapping.

"Hah hah," Aramis muttered, shaking his head at himself. He supposed he deserved that. "A little help?" he called down. "I'm not yet fit enough for such acrobatics."

"Then you shouldn't be fit enough for carnal acrobatics either," Athos replied dryly.

Aramis huffed, then grunted as his grip slipped and he was left dangling precariously by one hand before he managed to grasp the ledge again. That finally made his friends stop teasing him.

"Hang on," Porthos said more seriously.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Aramis muttered to himself. But he focused all of his efforts into not falling. His arms really were feeling the strain now and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, but then he heard the sound of creaking wheels and chanced a look down to see Athos and Porthos moving a wagon into position beneath him. It was still a drop, but much less than straight to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, he let go, bending his knees when he hit the wagon bed to absorb most of the impact. He still ended up losing his balance and falling flat on his ass.

Porthos was chuckling again and Athos was just giving him one of those unimpressed looks.

"One day you're going to get caught," Athos warned.

Aramis scooted to the edge of the wagon and hopped off. Snatching up his hat, pauldron, and sword, he simply grinned back at his friend. "Not today."

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan stood with palms braced on the counter on either side of the nest sitting a few feet from the furnace. The nursery was uncomfortably warm the longer he remained, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, his gaze transfixed on the egg in the bed of hay, as though staring at it long enough would somehow encourage it to hatch sooner.

"How much longer do you think?" he asked Constance.

"So impatient," she playfully chided. "You can't rush these things."

D'Artagnan sighed and straightened. "I know. I just want to be here when it happens." Ever since finding the egg and bringing it home, he'd been eager to finally see it hatch and meet the dragon that would be his to raise and care for. But it'd been almost two weeks now and he was starting to worry that maybe it _wouldn't_ hatch at all.

Constance came over from stoking the furnace and laid a hand upon the egg. After a few moments, she said, "I doubt it will be this morning, or even today. You should get to muster before you're late."

D'Artagnan sighed again, knowing she was right. "Will you send for me if—"

"Yes." She gave him a light push toward the door. "Now go." She paused on the threshold to give him a kiss goodbye.

He smiled at his wife as he jogged out of the dragon compound and toward the garrison. The other musketeers were gathering for muster, and d'Artagnan fell in line at the head next to Athos. Captain Treville came down, roved his commanding gaze over them, and then began to assign duties for the day. D'Artagnan was pleased that he was actually going to get guard duty with his friends at the palace that morning. The King usually liked to have a few dragon riders around for show.

Once the group was dismissed, d'Artagnan waited for Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to retrieve their dragons, and then they headed to the palace where Louis was planning to enjoy a late morning of shooting pigeons.

The repeated crack of the musket shattered an otherwise tranquil morning, though to men like the musketeers it held a certain, homey sort of rhythm. For others like the servants in attendance, however, there were several flinches among them.

Rhaego's sharp gaze tracked each and every pigeon that was loosed into the air, a hungry gleam in his eye.

"Behave," Aramis warned under his breath.

The russet dragon was still feeling guilty over injuring his rider a couple of weeks ago and lowered his head in sulky obedience. Aramis patted his side in understanding.

D'Artagnan quickly grew bored standing at attention, but at least they were in some shade. Worse than tedious parade duty was tedious parade duty in the blazing sun. The fact that he wasn't doing anything only added to his anxiousness over the egg back at the dragon compound. What if it didn't hatch? What if it did and he missed it?

His fretting was interrupted by the arrival of Cardinal Richelieu, who stopped at the edge of the gathering and silently watched for a few minutes.

"Care to take a turn, Cardinal?" Louis asked.

"No, thank you, Your Majesty," he replied. Then, after a beat, he added, "Perhaps one of your musketeers would like to take a shot instead? They are, after all, such skilled soldiers."

D'Artagnan exchanged a bewildered and uncertain look with the others; the Cardinal _never_ paid the regiment compliments. More often than not he was disparaging them for one thing or another, usually unfounded. So what did he mean by his comment now?

Even Louis seemed like he didn't know what to make of the suggestion.

The Cardinal stalked over to the line of Musketeer guards and roved his beady eyes over them. D'Artagnan held himself rigidly still under the scrutiny, feeling as though the man's very gaze left him coated in slime.

Richelieu finally pointed to Aramis. "Aren't you the one with the reputation for being the best marksman in the regiment?"

It was the best marksman in Paris, truth be told d'Artagnan thought, but Aramis merely canted his head and replied modestly, "I have some skill."

"Let's see it then," Richelieu said. "Surely you're carrying a weapon on you."

Aramis looked to the King for permission, and Louis gestured for him to step forward. D'Artagnan and Porthos watched with wary curiosity, while Athos's expression was tight. What _was_ the Cardinal up to?

Aramis stepped up next to Louis and drew his pistol rather than taking one of the King's muskets. D'Artagnan didn't think it mattered in terms of accuracy, not where Aramis was concerned.

The marksman nodded to the pigeon keeper, who released a bird. Aramis tracked it through the air and fired. The bird dropped like a stone.

"Some skill indeed," Richelieu commented.

There was a subdued round of applause; only a simpleton was unaware of the Cardinal's unfavorable opinion of the Musketeers, and the fact that he was seemingly praising one now was wrong footing everyone.

Aramis bowed to the King before retreating back to his post.

"Watch me make the next one," Louis declared, taking up a musket.

The Cardinal's eyes, however, tracked Aramis all the way back to his position next to his dragon. D'Artagnan frowned at the fixation. Aramis was aware of it, too, and looked like he was trying not to fidget under that steely gaze.

Louis fired his musket and let out a boisterous bark of laughter at hitting his target.

"Excellent, Your Majesty," Richelieu said without looking the King's way. "Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my work."

Louis ignored his departure, and with the Cardinal finally gone, Aramis visibly relaxed.

"What was that all about?" he murmured.

"How about Adele Bessette," Athos hissed.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes in dismay. That was _still_ going on?

"You need to avoid drawing attention to yourself," Athos went on.

Aramis scoffed.

"I mean it," Athos snapped in a low tone. "Stay away from Adele for a while."

"Listen to 'im, Aramis," Porthos added in a quiet voice laced with concern.

The marksman sighed. "Fine," he grudgingly said. "I'll volunteer for the next mission out of Paris, how about that?"

Neither Athos nor Porthos responded but they seemed relieved.

"Stop worrying," Aramis said to Athos, who huffed in turn.

The King finished up his shooting and declared that he was going to retire inside, thereby dismissing the Musketeers. Rhaego was wriggling in place as servants darted across the grounds to retrieve the dead pigeons. When they'd all been gathered up, the servants then tossed the carcasses the dragons' way.

Rhaego leaped forward to snatch one out of the air. He practically swallowed it whole and immediately turned to grab another.

Aramis moved forward and smacked his hindquarter. "Share," he reprimanded.

Rhaego grumbled under his breath as he let Savron and Vrita have a pigeon each, then he was snapping up two at a time.

With the dead birds disposed of and the dragons fed, the musketeers headed back to the garrison to hunt down their own lunch. D'Artagnan was eager to go home and check on the egg, especially if he wasn't needed for anything for the rest of the afternoon.

But just his luck, either Athos had noticed he was antsy or was simply in the mood, and the swordsman had declared an afternoon of sparring for the lot of them. D'Artagnan sighed. At least he was close by if Constance sent for him, and getting some practice dueling in _would_ help him work off his nervous energy.

Or he'd just be in store for another of Athos's lectures on being distracted.

D'Artagnan sighed again.

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke slowly and groggily, feeling like he was slogging through a thick mire of muck that bogged down both his body and mind. He lay in that suspended sort of state for a little while before he was finally able to peel his eyelids open. It took far too much effort and his vision was completely fuzzy. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Aramis moaned and lifted a heavy arm to press his palm against his aching head. The sleeve of his shirt brushed over his face. He didn't usually drink enough to get into this state, and he frowned in confusion as he tried to remember why he would have grown lax this time. Or maybe he was ill.

He lay still for a few moments, trying to muster the wherewithal to get up, when he began to notice the feel of the soft mattress beneath him. It was much nicer than his bed at the garrison…but not at all unfamiliar.

He forced his eyes fully open again and turned his head. His vision was still blurry, but he could make out a splash of red hair on the pillow beside him. He dropped his head back down and groaned; he remembered promising Athos he would take a break from this for a bit, and he could _not_ remember what had brought him to break that promise. Had he gotten outrageously drunk and come to Adele's house?

He was mortified at the thought, especially since he couldn't remember anything about how he'd behaved whilst inebriated. Adele had let him in though, so it couldn't have been that bad.

He pushed himself up onto his elbow and reached out to nudge Adele awake. Usually she would respond to his touch by snuggling closer to him, but this time she didn't react at all. His vision started to steady, blurred shapes coalescing into solid contours. Aramis jerked back at the sight of Adele's wide open eyes staring vacantly back at him. Now that he could see, Aramis noticed her skin had a sickly gray tinge, and when his gaze drifted down, he found her chest drenched in dark red blood.

Aramis scrambled from the bed in horror. Oh God. No… He clutched at his hair, tugging at the roots as he tried to awaken from this nightmare. But he didn't.

Heart pounding erratically, he hesitantly climbed back onto the bed and reached out a shaky hand to cup Adele's cheek. She was cold.

Hot moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision once again and briefly erasing the horrific sight. He blinked them away, anguish and fury roiling inside him. Who could have done this? How could he have been so drunk as to _not_ have heard it?

The doors suddenly banged open, making him jump, and a bunch of red guards poured in. Aramis was too stunned for a moment, but then three were converging on him, seizing him by the arms and yanking him off the bed to restrain him.

"This isn't what it looks like," he urged, struggling against their hold. Someone grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back. Another kicked out the backs of his legs to drive him to his knees.

"Shut up!" one of them growled.

The lead red guard walked to the foot of the bed, bent down, and picked up a pistol. One Aramis recognized. The guard sniffed the barrel.

"It's been fired recently."

Aramis's heart dropped into his stomach. What? No…

"You are under arrest for murder!" the guard declared.

"No," Aramis protested as he was hauled to his feet again. "This is a mistake!"

His captors of course paid him no heed. And as he was dragged from the bedroom and away Adele's blank, empty eyes, Aramis couldn't help but wonder if it was possible that he had, in fact, done the unthinkable…


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos made his way over to the dragon dens that morning as Jean and Constance arrived with their breakfast. Even though it was their responsibility to feed the dragons, Porthos liked to sometimes help when it came to his own. D'Artagnan was there too, he and Constance still young and in that giddy stage of their newly married relationship. Porthos took a slab of meat off the cart and went to give it to Vrita, who immediately started to chow down contentedly.

Jean stopped at the edge of her den, brow furrowed. "She looks like she might need to lose some weight," he commented.

Vrita jerked her head up with an affronted growl.

"There's nothin' wrong wit' a little girth," Porthos defended her. He patted his own bulk. "Like me."

D'Artagnan and Constance attempted to cover small laughs at that. Jean just shook his head.

"Do not overfeed her," he warned. "She may be fine as is but it won't take much to push her over that."

Porthos huffed and turned back to his dragon to give her a fond pat. "Don' listen to him," he soothed.

She rumbled deep in her throat and bent her head to resume her breakfast.

Porthos spotted Athos coming through the archway across the garrison. The swordsman went straight up the stairs to the captain's office, but after a moment and an unanswered knock, he came back down, looked around the yard briefly, then headed toward the dens.

"Yer early today," Porthos remarked. Not that Athos was ever late; he was just more on time than was strictly required.

"Treville sent someone to bang on my door this morning," Athos replied blandly. "What is the urgency?"

Porthos frowned. "Don' know. He didn't say anythin' to me." He hadn't even seen the captain this morning.

Athos made a thoughtful hum that could have been part annoyance, part tiredness. His morning routine was a very specific one.

Porthos caught sight of the captain striding into the garrison then. "There he is."

Treville's eyes immediately found them and he stormed over.

"He don' look happy," Porthos murmured. "What'd you do?"

Athos shot him a dry look.

The captain, indeed, looked stressed as he approached them. "Aramis has been arrested for murder," he said without preamble.

Porthos blinked, not quite understanding what he'd heard. The others shared dumbfounded looks as well.

"Murder?" he repeated incredulously.

"Who did he kill?" Athos asked.

"A woman named Adele Bessette."

Porthos's jaw went slack in stupefaction at that. "No way," he blurted.

"There must be some mistake," Athos said more calmly than Porthos thought the situation warranted.

Treville's jaw was tight. "He was found in the woman's bed next to her body and his pistol was the murder weapon."

Porthos exchanged a gobsmacked look with Athos and d'Artagnan, unable to believe it.

"I know this woman was the Cardinal's mistress," Treville went on. He paused to narrow his gaze on them. "Was Aramis playing around with something he shouldn't have been?"

"Even if he was," Athos answered, "he would never commit cold-blooded murder of a woman."

Treville sighed. "The evidence is pretty damning. I'll give you permission to conduct your own investigation. But you'd better hurry and find solid proof of his innocence, because the Cardinal is intent on rushing the trial straight to execution."

Porthos's heart lurched at that.

"Where is Aramis?" Athos asked.

"The Chatelet."

With a nod, Athos immediately set off. Porthos and d'Artagnan quickly followed, leaving Constance and Jean looking after them worriedly. None of them could believe that Aramis was guilty of this crime. But if he'd been found in bed next to the body, and it was his pistol that'd been used…good Lord, what _had_ he gotten himself into?

The three musketeers arrived at the Chatelet and asked the guards where Aramis was being held. They were given vague directions, the guards seeming less than motivated to be in any way helpful.

The Paris prison was a dark, cold, oppressive place with little light save from the flickering of torches. In some corners there were gaps in the outer stone wall to allow ventilation and illumination. Aramis, however, was in one of the deeper corridors where cries of misery echoed off the walls in a haunting cacophony.

He was in a cell by himself, sitting on the filthy ground with his knees drawn up and head in his hands. His coat was conspicuously missing.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan breathed.

He snapped his head up, then surged to his feet at the sight of them. There were dark circles under his eyes that were accentuated by the shadows cast from the wavering torchlight.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked first in a low voice laced with concern.

Aramis shook his head. "No. This is a nightmare."

"What happened?"

Aramis pressed an agitated hand against his head. "I don't know. I can't remember anything after yesterday afternoon when we were sparring."

Porthos's brows rose incredulously. "We went to the tavern last night. You don' remember that?"

Aramis shook his head again, expression obviously distraught. "How- how much did I have to drink?"

Porthos frowned as he thought back to the evening prior. "Not enough to match Athos," he said. "At least not by the time I was carryin' him home."

"So I stayed?" Aramis checked hesitantly.

"Yeah. You were flirtin' with the barmaid. She was givin' you a lot of attention and you waved us off when we left."

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut as though struggling to picture it. "I don't remember that," he said after a moment.

"Could you have been drugged?" Athos asked.

Aramis raked his fingers through his tangled curls. "That's the only thing that makes sense. I don't remember going to Adele's. When I woke up this morning, she was- she was…" He choked off and turned his face away from them.

Porthos shared a look with the others again. They knew Aramis had loved Adele, despite the danger—and perhaps the allure of that—with their liaison.

"Drugged and framed for murder?" d'Artagnan spoke up. "Why?"

Athos's gaze narrowed on Aramis's back and Porthos held back a sigh because they all knew who could be behind something like that and why.

"I-" Aramis started. "I left one of my pistols behind when I was last there," he admitted.

Porthos's eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

"The identical pair of the one you displayed in front of the Cardinal yesterday?" Athos asked, voice flinty with recrimination.

Aramis didn't say anything.

Porthos shook his head in mounting frustration and vexation.

"How are we going to prove Aramis's innocence, then?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We'll have a talk with the barmaid," Athos replied. "If Aramis was drugged, it likely happened there."

Aramis still didn't say anything. Porthos was reluctant to leave him alone like this, but the sooner they found out the truth of what happened, the sooner they could get him out of here.

"Hang in there," he said as he turned to leave with the others.

Aramis merely nodded and despondently watched them go.

.o.0.o.

With the departure of his friends, Aramis was alone again, and he felt the isolation keenly despite the chorus of cries that provided a constant backdrop to this dungeon. He shuffled back over to the wall, leaning back against it and sliding down to the floor to bury his face in his hands again. He couldn't believe this was happening.

Adele's empty gaze stared at him in his mind's eye no matter how hard he tried to shake free of it. His eyes burned and the tears started to fall. Had he brought this death upon her? Whether he had pulled that trigger or not, was she dead because of him? Because he couldn't stay away, couldn't leave well enough alone. She said she loved him but she never considered leaving the Cardinal for him. And her inability to choose Aramis hadn't discouraged him from continuing the affair. Was Athos right; had it all been a game? A twisted game driven more out of lust and desire to get a one-up on the Cardinal than real, genuine love?

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut as more hot tears spilled forth. Was he really that base? No, his grief was real, and therefore so were his feelings. But if he had been more careful, more cautious, more _wise_ as Athos had repeatedly tried to drill into his head to no avail, maybe things wouldn't have fallen apart so drastically like this. Maybe Adele would still be alive.

He heard the soft swish of fabric that was a stark contrast to the metal clink any guard would make and looked up. Aramis stiffened as none other than the Cardinal appeared outside his cell. He hastened to his feet, turning his head to the shadows so he could swiftly wipe the tears from his eyes before facing the villain.

The Cardinal had a predatory, satisfied look as he regarded Aramis. The man didn't say anything though, and the scrutiny quickly began to grate on Aramis's nerves.

"What do you want?" he gritted out, breaking the stalemate first.

"As France's spiritual leader, I have come to offer the King's man the chance to confess your sins before your execution, to unburden your soul before you face eternal judgement."

Aramis narrowed his gaze. "I'm to have a trial before I'm declared guilty."

Richelieu smirked. "By all means. But the evidence is irrefutable."

"I didn't murder Adele. I was framed. And I think we both know who is truly behind it," Aramis declared staunchly. He closed the distance to the edge of the bars, fury exploding inside him. "How could you kill her!"

Richelieu tutted. "I did no such thing."

"Maybe you didn't pull the trigger yourself, but I know you're behind this."

"Yet all the evidence points to you. If my services are not needed, then I will take my leave." Richelieu turned away, but then paused and looked back with a gleam in his eye. "There is a special circle of Hell reserved for those who commit the sin of betrayal. Perhaps you will see dear Adele again."

With that, he strode away.

Aramis's chest felt too tight to draw breath. That was as good as an admission in his eyes…not that it helped him. And it only confirmed that Adele _was_ dead because of him. Because the Cardinal had discovered their affair and had seen fit to exact revenge.

Alone once more, Aramis staggered back to his corner to languish under the crushing weight of guilt and grief. He bowed his head to pray. He would confess his sins directly to God, not to a farce of a holy man, a devil parading in devout robes.

"Lord," he began with a shaky stutter. "Have mercy. I do not deserve it, but deliver me from this tribulation. Let me die for something I am truly guilty of."

But wasn't he guilty in part? If he had stayed away from Adele, none of this would have happened.

"Have mercy on Adele," he whispered. "Spare her soul. She had a good heart. She only led the life she did to survive. It was never out of malice. Absolve her sins in death, I pray you."

He reached under the collar of his shirt to pull out his rosary.

_And absolve me of mine_.

.o.0.o.

The tavern had a quieter crowd this early in the morning when the musketeers entered. Athos never paid attention to the women Aramis flirted with, so he had to rely on Porthos to point her out.

Porthos scanned the dimly lit bar, then pointed to a young wench in the back wiping down one of the tables. The musketeers approached her, fanning out slightly to present a slightly intimidating front. She jolted when she finally noticed them.

"Messieurs?"

"Do you remember us from last night?" Athos asked.

"We had a lot o' patrons last night," she replied, flicking a wary glance between the three of them.

"You seemed pretty cozy with our friend, Aramis," he went on blandly.

There was a flash of fear in her eyes, which she quickly tried to cover with a nervous laugh. "Everyone knows Aramis."

"What happened with him last night?" Athos pressed.

"Nothing happened," she replied, but there was a slight increase in her inflection and a shifty look in her eye.

"I don't believe you," Athos said. "He was drugged, likely through the wine at this establishment. And you were the one serving him."

"N-no. You're mistaken."

Porthos stepped closer with a growl. "Tell us what you did and maybe we won' throw you in the Chatelet."

" _Nothing_!" she bleated. This time her frightened gaze skittered past them as though searching for someone else to be watching their interaction. "I'm telling you, I don't know anything!"

"Porthos," Athos said quietly.

Porthos flicked a displeased look his way before backing up a step. The barmaid squeezed past him and darted away.

"She knows somethin'," Porthos barked.

"She's scared," d'Artagnan commented. "Of the Cardinal?"

"The Cardinal would never get his hands dirty himself," Athos replied. "He'd send his red guards."

"Then we go after her an' ask what red guards she's been in cahoots wit'," Porthos snapped.

"That will only send us on another chase," Athos countered. "We should speak to Adele Bessette's household staff. Aramis and Adele were deliberately placed there; someone must have seen something. We need an eyewitness account if we're to prove Aramis's innocence sooner rather than later."

Porthos still looked disgruntled but didn't argue further. They were in a hurry. With the Cardinal behind things, there was no telling just how quickly he might get a trial going, and from there whisk Aramis away to the executioner. The musketeers were in a race against time with the deck stacked against them.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis sat in his cell, staring vacantly ahead as snatches of blurry memories flashed through his mind. He felt hands holding him up as he fumbled to keep his feet beneath him. They prevented him from face-planting and steered him through the streets. He thought they were Porthos and Athos, but that wasn't right; they had left the tavern first and hadn't come back. Someone else had guided him drunkenly over the cobblestones, straight to Adele's house.

He pressed a fist to the side of his head, trying to remember more. But he kept drawing a blank, and the more he tried to force it, the more his head ached. It terrified him, not knowing if he'd been too insensate to do anything but be deposited next to Adele's body…or if he'd been conscious enough for someone to manipulate him into pulling the trigger himself. Logically he knew that wouldn't change his guilt—but he couldn't stomach the thought of his hands having done the deed.

Clomping footsteps and the clink of metal announced the approach of some guards. When they stopped at his cell and started to unlock it, Aramis slowly got to his feet. The door creaked open and two guards stepped in. Aramis could do nothing as he was clapped in irons and then escorted out.

A wagon was parked in the courtyard outside and Aramis was hefted into the back of it. There was a post at the head of the wagon bed where his chains were secured, and then the wagon lurched into movement as he was carted off to the courts. Aramis had a fleeting thought that he might get lucky with the judge.

Such foolish hopes were doused when he was hauled into the courtroom and brought to stand before a severe looking man with white beard and beady eyes. He slammed his gavel upon the stand to command attention from the crowd gathered to watch. Captain Treville was there, looking grim. Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan weren't present. Neither was the Cardinal, but no doubt he had eyes and ears there to report back on the proceedings. Or perhaps he'd already spoken with the judge.

"I think it's quite clear what happened here," the judge declared trenchantly.

"Your Honor, if I might say something?" Treville spoke up.

"We'll come to you, Captain Treville," the judge snapped. He skewered Aramis with a steely, condemning glare. "Well. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Aramis lifted his head. "I am innocent of the charges, Your Honor. I don't know what happened. The last thing I remember is going to the tavern yesterday, although even that is hazy. I believe I was drugged. I have no memory of coming to Madame Bessette's house."

"Yet you wake alongside her with a bullet in her heart?" the judge replied with caustic skepticism.

Aramis gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"And you claim to have no idea how that happened?"

"Aramis is a man of fine reputation," Treville interjected again. "A good soldier and a musketeer of many years' standing."

"A woman lies dead, murdered!" the judge exclaimed, eliciting a hush of murmurs in the audience. "An example must be made. The musketeer Aramis, I find you guilty and sentence you to death. Sentence to be carried out immediately." The bang of the gavel reverberated throughout the chamber.

"This is irregular, sir!" Treville exclaimed. "I will lodge an appeal with the King."

"That is your right, Captain. Take this man to the gallows."

Aramis could only stare in disbelief, the breath having stole from his lungs at the pronouncement. The guards came forward and seized his arms to haul him out. He wanted to fight against this injustice, but what could he do?

He caught Treville's eyes and saw the fury and desperation in them. But there was nothing even that the captain could do. Even if Kilgar was waiting outside, he would not make it to the King in time to lodge that appeal. No doubt the Cardinal had contingencies in place for that. He was a master puppeteer after all, and it seemed in this he was going to win.

Aramis was dragged outside and thrown back into the cart, his chains affixed to the post again. The guards cinched them tight and low this time, forcing him to hunch or get down on his knees. He would not take such a position of penitence though, not when he was innocent and falsely accused. It was the last dignity left to him.

The wagon began its journey back toward the Chatelet and the courtyard where the gallows stood. Aramis kept his head high as silent prayers spilled from his lips. There was still a chance, however small, of a miracle. Hadn't they once saved Athos from such a fate at the last possible moment?

But in case that was not in store for him, he prayed for his soul, for a quick death though he knew the noose did not typically provide one. He prayed for Rhaego, and his brothers. He didn't know whether to be grateful they were not here to witness this or grieved that he wouldn't get to see them, one last time.

Somewhere a church bell tolled, a death knell to Aramis's bleeding heart.

.o.0.o.

Porthos couldn't believe it was only yesterday he'd been walking up this street and laughing at finding Aramis in the precarious position of hanging out a window. His almost being caught in his sordid affair had been humorous at the time.

It wasn't funny now.

Athos led the way to the door and knocked. It was opened a moment later by a servant girl.

"We are here on Musketeer business," Athos said imperiously.

The young lady looked uncertain and shyly opened the door wider to allow them entrance.

"What is your name?" Athos asked.

"Helen."

"How long have you been in Adele Bessette's employ?"

The girl kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hands clasped tightly in front. "Three years, monsieur."

"Was she a good mistress?"

Porthos's jaw ticked. Why was Athos bothering with these irrelevant questions?

"Yes," the servant whispered, and there was a crack in her voice that denoted genuine grief over the lady's death.

"You know about her affair with the musketeer Aramis," Athos went on.

"'Tis not my business, monsieur."

"You also knew about the Cardinal."

Helen didn't say anything to that, and her eyes remained firmly on the floor.

"You kept her secrets," d'Artagnan put in gently. "You were loyal."

Her gaze flickered up before snapping back to the ground.

"Do you think Adele loved Aramis?" d'Artagnan continued. "Do you think she would want him to die for a murder he didn't commit?"

This time there was outright fear in her eyes when she shot a glance up at them again.

"What happened that night?" Athos asked. "Aramis was drugged. Who brought him here?"

Tears welled in the girl's eyes.

"We can protect you," d'Artagnan promised.

She shook her head with a sob. "Not from him."

"The Cardinal?" Porthos said. "We won't let 'im hurt you."

"His men are everywhere," she hissed. "I have no family, nowhere to go. How would you protect me?" She shook her head and cast an anxious look around the halls and anterooms. "I will be dead or in the gutter if I don't keep my place."

"We're talking about an innocent man losing _his_ life!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"Please," Porthos pleaded, realizing now that intimidating an already terrified girl wasn't going to convince her to help them. "Aramis is our friend an' he doesn't deserve to die. We'll do everythin' we can to help you. Jus', please, help us save him."

Helen's eyes were red and she was silent for several long moments. Casting a look over her shoulder again, she then wordlessly beckoned for them to follow her up the stairs. Porthos flicked a wary eye down the hallways they passed as Helen led them to the upstairs bedroom. The bed had been stripped but there was still a rust-colored stain that had seeped down through the duvet to the mattress. Porthos spotted Aramis's coat discarded on the floor in the corner and went to pick it up.

"There were four of them," Helen whispered. "Red guards. They arrived late. My mistress had not yet gone to bed. Colette let them in. She- she didn't seem bothered by them at all. Two had Aramis slung between them. I had been bringing some warm bricks from the kitchen and tried to stay out of sight. They took Aramis upstairs. Again, Colette seemed unbothered. She retired to her room. I didn't know what to do."

She paused, gaze sliding toward the blood stain on the bed. When she spoke again, her breathing hitched.

"They barged into my mistress's bedroom. I could hear their raised voices. She demanded to know what the meaning of this was. Then she cried Aramis's name." Helen's eyes welled with tears. "There were sounds of a struggle. My mistress screamed. Then there was a shot." She let out a shaky breath. "After that it was quiet for a few minutes, then the red guards came down and left. I was going to go upstairs to check on them, but Colette appeared and sternly told me to go to bed for the night. I dared not disobey her. She came from the Cardinal's household. It was only the next morning when the red guards returned that what I feared was confirmed."

"Can you identify any of the red guards?" Athos asked.

Helen nodded slowly. "Captain Gaudet. He's accompanied the Cardinal here a few times."

Athos stepped forward, gaze earnest. "Will you tell this story to the King?"

Helen's eyes widened in fear, but she managed a shaky nod as she looked at d'Artagnan. "You're right, I loved my mistress, and she loved Aramis. She would not want him to die."

"Then we must hurry," Athos replied.

Porthos nodded staunchly as they turned to escort Helen from the house and hasten to the palace. If only they had the speed of dragon flight at their call this time; Porthos had a dreaded feeling they might be too late.

.o.0.o.

Rhaego sat in the garrison yard, tail swishing back and forth in agitation. He got up, walked a few paces away, then plopped down again. He smacked his jaw as he watched the garrison going about its daily business as normal. Except things weren't normal. His rider wasn't present, and his friends had gone hurrying out of the garrison that morning over some urgent business that Rhaego had frankly missed, having not bothered to rise from his den since Aramis wasn't even there yet. Vrita had relayed what had happened about Aramis's arrest and the others rushing off to prove his innocence. But that had been a few hours ago and none of them had returned. Rhaego was growing impatient. He got up, moved a few feet, and sat again.

Vrita rumbled low in her throat for him to knock it off.

He shot her an irritated glare. Their riders weren't back yet.

Pacing wouldn't make them return any faster, she pointed out.

Rhaego snapped that neither would lying around like a log.

Vrita huffed and turned away.

Rhaego got up and shuffled across the yard.

A musketeer, Rhaego didn't know his name, came hustling into the garrison then. "Have Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan returned?" he asked urgently, pricking Rhaego's ears.

A few men made their way toward him and gave a negative answer.

The musketeer looked upset at that. "The trial was pushed forward and the judge sentenced Aramis to hang immediately. Treville is on his way to the palace to petition the King, but there's no way he'll make it in time. And if the others haven't returned with proof yet…" His mouth pressed into a grim line.

Rhaego straightened sharply. Sentenced to hang? His Aramis? No, he was not going to stand for that. He snapped his wings taut and gave a massive flap to launch himself into the air. Startled shouts resounded below him along with cries for him to come back. He ignored them.

Flying over the city, he veered toward the prison, remembering where it was from the time they'd flown with all haste to save Athos from being wrongly executed. And now it was Aramis as the victim. Rhaego did not think much of the humans' so-called justice system.

He saw the courtyard below and the gallows…and Aramis being led up to the platform, hands tied behind his back. A rope hung from the central beam, one end looped into a noose. Rhaego belted out a roar and swooped down, landing partially on the roof of a low guard tower and partially on the wall. Guards screamed and scrambled away. Rhaego immediately sparked his inner fire and spewed a geyser of flame at the gallows. Tongues of fire whooshed across the beam, devouring the rope almost instantly and dropping the noose to the base. He then snapped his gaze at the men still holding Aramis and let out an enraged screech.

Pistols fired in quick succession, peppering his hide with the equivalent of bee stings. Lead musket balls couldn't pierce a dragon's scales, though that didn't mean Rhaego appreciated being shot at. He screeched in response and kindled more fire to expel.

"Rhaego, no!" Aramis shouted.

With a gurgle, he quenched his fire. His rider was probably right; the courtyard was too confined not to risk Aramis if Rhaego flooded it with flames.

"Get Bonacieux!" someone bellowed. "And some damn acimite blades!"

Now those _would_ hurt. Rhaego started to climb down the wall, ripping tiles off the tower roof and splintering some wooden scaffolds. He needed to get to Aramis and fly him out of here.

His guards, however terrified they appeared, were keeping a solid grip on Aramis where he was being pressed to the floor of the gallows platform.

A shriek sounded above as Savron and Vrita arrived, the silverback ordering Rhaego to stand down.

Rhaego snarled in response. He would not. And if it were one of their riders about to be killed, they wouldn't stand by and do nothing.

More soldiers were pouring out from the prison.

"Shoot its eyes!" a guard yelled.

Aramis struggled against his captors. "No, don't!" He was shoved onto his stomach, a boot planted in his back.

Rhaego snapped viciously at them. He'd had enough. No one hurt his rider, and he would tear them all to pieces if he had to…


	4. Chapter 4

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan ushered Helen onto the palace grounds and into the palace, searching for the King. They were directed to one of the libraries where Louis was said to be in conference with their captain. Athos slowed his pace as they approached the doors, hearing raised voices inside.

"The trial was rushed and inadequate time given to investigate the case!" Treville was arguing.

There was a derisive scoff. "What is there to investigate when the proof is quite clear?"

Helen froze at the sound of the Cardinal's voice, eyes blowing wide in sheer terror.

"An immediate execution is most irregular, Your Majesty," Treville continued.

Now it was Athos's brows that rose in alarm. The trial had already taken place and Aramis been sentenced? Were they already too late?

"No, no, no," Porthos murmured, grabbing Helen's arm as she started to retreat. "You have to tell the King the truth!"

She shook her head frantically. "I _can't_! He'll have me killed."

"Stay here," Athos ordered and slipped into the library.

He strode straight to Treville, ignoring proper protocol by not even acknowledging the King, even going so far as to angle his back to his sovereign so he could whisper in Treville's ear.

"We have a witness that red guards committed the murder. She's afraid for her life."

"Captain?" Louis queried.

Treville straightened. "Your Majesty, my men have found new information, but the source requests an audience in private."

The Cardinal spread his arms. "We are alone. By all means, present this source."

"With all due respect, they will only speak to the King, as they are afraid of repercussions."

"From who?" Richelieu challenged.

"When it comes to conspiracy, one has cause to be cautious," Treville rejoined.

"Oh, fine," Louis said impatiently. "If you'll excuse us, Cardinal, I wish this business to be done with."

"Your Majesty," the Cardinal said petulantly. "Do not indulge such nonsense."

"If it is nonsense, then I won't waste your time with it," Louis replied airily. "I'm sure you have more important matters of state to attend to."

There was a pregnant pause. Athos saw the Cardinal's eye twitch. It took a beat too long for Richelieu to bow and accept the dismissal, time Athos keenly felt slipping through their fingers. The Cardinal turned and strode from the room, the doors closing behind him like the bang of a gong.

Athos immediately turned to retrieve Helen from the opposite antechamber, guiding her into the library to stand before the King. "Your Majesty, this woman was a maid in the murdered woman's house. She was there the night of the murder." Athos nodded to her. "Tell him what you told us."

Helen flicked a terrified look between them all and wrung her hands in her skirts.

"Speak freely," Louis prompted. "You have nothing to fear here."

She swallowed hard, then began to relay her story. Louis frowned as the information was laid out but didn't interrupt until she had finished.

"I commend you for your bravery," he said. "We will see that these men are punished accordingly."

She ducked her head in response.

Louis turned to Treville. "I will grant a pardon for the musketeer Aramis." He went over to a writing desk to retrieve some parchment and a quill to write out the order.

Athos was tense while they waited. Porthos and d'Artagnan kept fidgeting anxiously.

"And what happens to me now?" Helen whispered.

"We will make sure you are taken care of," Athos promised. He hadn't given any thought as to how yet; first things first. They had to save Aramis.

The King was still penning the official document when Cornet rushed in.

"Captain," he said breathlessly. "There's a disturbance at the Chatelet—it's Rhaego."

Athos closed his eyes in dismay as the others exchanged horrified looks. If anything could make a terrible situation worse, it was that dragon.

Louis stamped his seal on the pardon and handed it to the captain. "Treville, fix this mess," he warned.

Treville gave a short nod and they all hurried out. Kilgar was waiting outside and the captain went straight to jump into the saddle, leaving Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan to watch helplessly as he flew off. They could only pray the captain wouldn't be too late to save their brother.

.o.0.o.

Aramis watched in horror as Rhaego faced down an army of red guards, half of whom were priming their muskets to try shooting out the dragon's eyes. Rhaego snarled at them, his belly glowing but not unleashing his fire. His eyes were blazing with rage and Aramis could see him calculating how to bowl all these men down.

But even if Aramis broke free and took off with him, what then? If he escaped with Rhaego, they would both be hunted for the rest of their lives. Aramis didn't want to die, but the thought of living on the run, to never see his brothers again…he couldn't bear such an existence.

The guards were shooting now, most of the musket balls glancing off Rhaego's hide, but it was only a matter of odds before one struck him in the face.

"Rhaego, stop!" Aramis yelled.

But of course his dragon would never leave him.

A knee in his lower back kept Aramis on the floor. The crack of muskets continued to pierce the air. Above, Savron and Vrita circled the prison, screeching in turn. Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and begged God that no one else should be harmed on his account.

Then there was a whomp of wings and Aramis opened his eyes to see Captain Treville's dragon, Kilgar, swooping down and trying to find purchase on another part of the wall. The dragon roared at Rhaego, who instantly cowed, while Treville swung down with his anchor line to reach the ground.

"Stand down!" he bellowed. "By order of the King!" He held up a rolled piece of parchment in his hand, and Aramis's breath caught in his throat with treacherous hope.

The guards faltered as Treville crossed the courtyard. Kilgar was looming over Rhaego, who had lowered his head in submission and ceased his hostility. Treville jogged up the steps to the platform and shoved at the guards holding Aramis down. They moved back, finally allowing Aramis to sit up. Treville knelt quickly to cut his bonds.

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Your friends deserve the thanks," Treville replied, grasping his arm and hauling him to his feet.

Aramis couldn't help but quirk a small smile. He should have known.

"The King will hear about that vicious dragon!" one of the captains of the Red Guard yelled.

Aramis stiffened.

"He's already aware," Treville replied coolly. "No one was hurt, and that gallows was starting to look a little rotted anyway."

The captain's face flushed puce with rage.

"Go back to the garrison," Treville ordered Kilgar and Rhaego as he guided Aramis off the platform.

Rhaego looked like he didn't want to leave without Aramis, but Kilgar snapped his jaws at him, and the younger dragon reluctantly preceded the alpha into the air, leaving Aramis and Treville to make their way out on foot.

"He was just trying to protect me—"

"Fortunate he did, or we would have been too late," Treville said gravely. "I'll make sure there are no repercussions."

Aramis sighed in relief and nodded gratefully. "I take it this means you discovered what really happened?"

Treville nodded. "Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan found a servant in Madame Bessette's household who was there. It was some red guards, led by Captain Gaudet. I will put out a warrant for his arrest as soon as we return to the garrison."

"He was acting on behalf of the Cardinal," Aramis said coldly.

"That may be, but unless Gaudet is willing to say so, there is no evidence of that."

Aramis clenched his fists. He couldn't let Richelieu get away with Adele's murder.

"It would be crass of me to point out how dangerous your actions have been," Treville began in a careful tone. "And it can't change anything at this point. But you _will not_ pursue this matter with the Cardinal."

Aramis bristled and pulled up short. "He had her _murdered_."

"Do you think she is the first?" Treville hissed back. "He failed to sully your name with this, but that does not mean you will not later find yourself in a dark alley with a knife in your back!" The Captain narrowed his eyes. "Watch yourself, Aramis. Do not make trouble with the Cardinal, for your sake and the sake of your brothers. The Cardinal is not above targeting them."

Aramis flinched at that, but he knew the truth of it. "What about justice?" he demanded.

"There may come a time when the Cardinal will face justice from the law," Treville said. "But it may also be that justice will only come from God. I trust that in your faith you can find a way to accept that."

It wasn't a question, yet Aramis lowered his gaze in concession. It burned him to do so, but he would not bring further harm to those he loved. As it was, Treville was right: he was still in danger of the Cardinal's vengeance.

They spent the rest of the trek to the garrison in silence.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan exclaimed the moment they passed under the archway.

Aramis's dour mood was briefly quenched with joyous relief at the sight of his brothers coming toward him. He welcomed the embrace d'Artagnan immediately offered him, then turned to do the same with Porthos. Athos's demeanor was more reserved, but there was the barest of genuine smiles cracking that stoic facade.

"Thank you," Aramis said, sobering again. "Treville told me what you did. I'm grateful."

Porthos clapped him on the back. "You'd have done the same fer us."

"You already have," Athos added with a meaningful look.

Aramis nodded. The thing was that Athos wasn't guilty that time, and while Aramis hadn't been the one to murder Adele, he still bore some of the guilt for bringing it upon her.

He looked past his friends to where his dragon was sitting tautly in the yard, looking agitated but holding himself in check under Kilgar's domineering glare. Aramis walked over and reached out to lay a hand upon Rhaego's neck.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said quietly.

Rhaego jabbed his nose into Aramis's chest, expression scowling.

Aramis sighed at his dragon's undying loyalty, and the loyalty of his brothers.

He didn't feel like he deserved it.

.o.0.o.

Athos and Savron flew over the countryside of northern France. Athos had a secure arm braced around Helen where she sat in front of him, shaking like a leaf and gripping the pommels of the saddle in a white-knuckled grip. Fortunately, their destination wasn't far by dragon flight.

Savron glided down to land in a field outside the village of Pinon. Athos unhooked the anchor lines and dismounted, then helped Helen from the saddle.

"The village is small and modest," he said. "But the people are good and they will make a place for you. No one from Paris will think to look for you here."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Athos knew it would be an adjustment for her, but at least she would be safe. He pulled out a folded letter from his coat and handed it to her. "Give this to the mayor of Pinon." Bertrand would honor the former Comte's request to take Helen in.

The maidservant nodded, clutching the letter to her chest, and began making her way toward the collection of houses. Athos watched her walk into the village, then he mounted up on Savron again and the two headed back to Paris.

.o.0.o.

It had been a fraught and exhausting day, culminating in a disappointing discovery when the Musketeers had gone to arrest Gaudet. They'd found him alright—face down on the floor of his apartments reeking of poison. There would be no confession from him, no naming of his accomplices…or his co-conspirator.

The Cardinal was very cunning when it came to cleaning up loose ends. And that made Porthos both furious and worried, because Aramis was now cleared of charges, but that didn't make him safe.

He hadn't gone with them on the arrest, nor was he waiting in the garrison yard for their return. Porthos headed for his room in the barracks, d'Artagnan a silent shadow trailing behind. He knocked on Aramis's door and received a muffled response. Porthos let himself in.

Aramis was sitting at the small round table by the window, nursing a cup of wine. "Did you find him?" he asked.

"Yeah, but the Cardinal had already gotten to 'im," Porthos replied regretfully. "He's dead."

Aramis leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his curls. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," he murmured softly.

"We'll find a way," Porthos vowed.

"No." Aramis shook his head. "The Cardinal is too powerful. We're better off leaving well enough alone."

Porthos exchanged a surprised look with d'Artagnan; that wasn't like Aramis at all. "He could still come after you," he protested.

Aramis knocked back a swig of wine. "He's welcome to try," he muttered bitterly.

Porthos eyed him for a moment, then sighed in understanding. "You loved her."

His friend's eyes grew wet and he nodded. "And she's dead because of me."

"She's dead because she got in bed wit' the Cardinal. Happens to most who do that," Porthos pointed out as gently—though perhaps not tactfully—as he could. "That ain't on you."

"If I had stayed away…"

"You made her happy," d'Artagnan offered. "That's worth something."

Aramis didn't say anything to that, just gazed down morosely into the depths of his cup.

"Do you know when the funeral is?" Porthos asked.

"No."

"You wanna go find out?"

Aramis looked up at him, eyes still wavering with a myriad of anguished emotions. He then seemed to collect himself, shuttering them all, and nodded. "Yes."

He stood and donned his coat that they'd returned to him earlier, and the three of them headed out to the mausoleum. It was late, but the body of the recently passed would be available for vigil before the internment. Porthos doubted the Cardinal would bother with that.

They entered the stately house of tombs and were greeted by a priest making his rounds.

"We're here to pay our respects to Adele Bessette," Porthos spoke for them.

The priest's brows furrowed. "Madame Bessette has already been laid to rest."

"What?" Aramis blurted.

The priest nodded and beckoned for them to follow him. He led them down into the catacombs and into one of the many crypts installed there. Remaining outside the wrought iron gate, he gestured to the back wall.

Aramis entered first, slowly, eyes finding a recently engraved plaque.

" _Adele Bessette. Died For Love._ "

Aramis pressed a fist to his mouth and braced his other arm against the wall.

"Would you excuse us?" d'Artagnan quietly asked the priest.

The man nodded and left.

"I'll kill 'im," Porthos growled. "One o' these days."

"I think we need to have a serious conversation about Aramis's safety," d'Artagnan said gravely.

"No," Aramis replied. "The Cardinal won't come after me."

"How can you be so sure?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis moved his arm to trace his hand down Adele's plaque. "This." His chest hitched and he bowed his head. "He still won, and he'll let me live with the guilt of this."

Porthos shared a look with d'Artagnan. He wasn't sure he believed that. But then again, that did sound like something that evil bastard would do.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes, giving Aramis some time to mourn. Then Porthos moved closer and settled a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Come on."

Aramis wordlessly let himself be led away from the tomb.

.o.0.o.

It was very late when d'Artagnan finally made it home. After their visit to the crypt, they'd gone back to Aramis's rooms to drink. Though there hadn't been that much drinking going on. Aramis wasn't like Athos who preferred to drown every single sorrow—and himself—in wine. He'd probably only knocked back two cups, and that was over the course of a couple hours. Porthos had eventually given d'Artagnan a subtle nod that he should head home and Porthos would stay.

There was a single candle lit inside the Bonacieux home, probably left for him. So he was surprised when Constance called out his name from the opposite direction.

"D'Artagnan!"

He turned to see her running toward him across the yard.

"I didn't think you'd make it back in time," she gushed, grabbing his arm. "It's happening!"

He quirked a confused brow for a split second before his heart gave a jolt, and then he was quickening his pace to keep up with her as she ushered him toward the nursery. Jean was inside next to the nest, watching the egg intently as it twitched.

The exhaustion that had been dogging d'Artagnan all day evaporated with a surge of ecstatic excitement. The three of them gathered around the egg, watching with bated breath as a tiny crack appeared in the top of the shell. The egg vibrated some more, and the split widened. A chip fell off.

D'Artagnan held his breath as a tiny pale nose poked its way out into the world for the first time…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I wouldn't skip over the baby dragon hatching. We'll pick up with that at the start of the next episode. ;)
> 
> NEXT TIME
> 
> When General de Foix comes to Treville for help rescuing his sister from the Spanish, Treville cannot refuse. But they might find themselves in need of their own rescue.


End file.
